


The Glassblower and the Dragon: A Tatoo Suns Faerie Tale

by glorious_clio



Series: Star Wars is a Faerie Tale [6]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Fairy Tales, Gen, Tatooine Slave Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: The life of a slave is a hard one, and it's the second thing Anakin learns. The first thing he learns, however, is Shmi Skywalker's favorite story.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Glassblower and the Dragon | 8tracks](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/252124) by glorious clio. 
  * Inspired by [The Glassblower and the Dragon | playmoss](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/252127) by glorious clio. 
  * Inspired by [Instructions](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/178765) by Neil Gaiman. 



> Happy New Year! 
> 
> The poetry in the fairy tale is Neil Gaiman’s “Instructions” with my gratitude and my apologies. You should read that before you read this, because there is some pretty heavy handed remixing going on here, and it’s a beautiful poem in its original form. I really love it. 
> 
> Thank you times a million to the tireless lalalalalawhy for her wonderful support while I agonized over this.

__

_Once upon a time, there lived a master glassblower in the middle of a sand filled planet. The glass makers of the guild were forced to keep to one settlement in the middle of the dune sea. There were two reasons for this. The first was to protect the cities from the dreadful fires that sometimes escaped the glassmaking furnaces. The second was to keep the secrets of the glassblowers from prying outsiders. The master glassblowers were forbidden from leaving their island. Revealing the secrets of the glass making to those outside the guild was punishable by death. Supplies were delivered to the island to trade for completed works, or the lowest apprentices were sometimes sent to brave the dune sea. Some even survived._

_One master glassblower kept her secrets better than most. She had been raised in secrets, in the heat and the sand. She never married, and she had not wish to bring children into this difficult world. Being a master of something always came at a cost._

_She was strong, her hands were steady, she could stand that most oppressive heats, and make the most delicate glass creations. Her colors were balanced and vibrant. Her eyes could spot the best sands. Her hands devised the most wonderful worlds. Each creation seemed to sing out with joy even when empty. She kept her silence and thus was kept alive._

_She created such beauty out of such pain, pouring all her wishes into the glass that was traded across the galaxy while she remained on her island in the dune sea._

 

 

 

 

 

Shmi never wanted children. She thanked the stars that she was never beautiful, that Gardulla the Hutt never required her broad shoulders and calloused hands as a decoration in her throne room. Shmi could never explain what happened. But there were stories from all over the galaxy of virgin births, of children born from heads or thighs. Slaves born without fathers were not uncommon.

She nearly refused to take the child she had delivered, as he seemed only born to suffer. Shmi didn’t have this choice, however. Gardulla would have been furious - she was delighted that her slave had reproduced. Two for the price of one. Yet as Shmi nursed him day after day her disinterest in the child flowed out of her, and a deep love for the child filled her, like sand in an hourglass. She stared into his eyes and thought about names. Names were important to Tatooine slaves. Most names meant _hope_ or _freedom_. Shmi’s name meant _bringer of light_. She named her son Anakin. It meant _infinity._

He was a good baby; he knew enough to keep silent so Gardulla would take no notice of him. She bored with trinkets so easily. At night, Shmi told Anakin stories. There were stories for every constellation, and she could read the stars like scholars read books. Appropriately, there were two stories of the the binary suns; one of two firebirds, but Shmi Skywalker preferred the Glassblower and the Dragon.

 

 

 

 

 

_Life was measured by the fires that were stoked, by cooling of glass, by the spin of the pipes through flames. In time, she became a bent crone with flashing eyes and looked like she might be a witch. That is what the children of the other glass makers called her, anyway, and her lips would always quirk into a grin. Time passed, and every day was the same for the glassblowers._

_Until one day, a dragon descended from the sky, plunging the planet in darkness and taking up residence in the dune sea._

_The dragons that light the days are peculiar creatures, jealous and proud. And hungry._

_The glassblower had no family, but the children who made her smile begged for her help. They had taken measure of the strength of her arms, the steady hands, the silent spells she seemed to cast over her glass._

_‘I cannot defeat a dragon,’ the glassblower told the children, ‘nor send it back to the skies.’_

_‘But Master,’ the children said, ‘There is no one else, surely a witch will know a few tricks?’_

_She cupped the smallest child’s face and said, ‘But I am not a witch, that was a joke you told. Besides, if I leave, I shall be killed.’_

_‘We shall all be dead if the dragon stays,’ the child replied._

_The glassblower looked around her firing room at the children that were gathered. There were fewer than there should be, and of the ones that remained, all had lost at least one family member. They looked sad, worried, anxious. Desperate._

_They did not say that the master glassblower had the least to lose by battling a dragon. She sighed, and kissed the smallest child on the forehead._

_‘I shall try,’ she promised._

_The younglings wiped their tears and presented gifts for her journey; a cloak of white, a velvet pouch the color of darkness, a little silver needle and some strong silk thread, and an ever-full canteen. The glassblower gathered her own tools, some food for the journey, a handful of flux, and her best blowing pipe._

_Before she left, the youngest gave her advice learned at her mother’s knee:_

_Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that_  
_witches are often betrayed by their appetites;_  
_dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;_  
_hearts can be well hidden,_  
_and you betray them with your tongue._

 _Remember your name._  
_Do not lose hope – what you seek will be found._  
_Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn._  
_Trust dreams._  
_Trust your heart, and trust your story._

_With one last look at the children, she set her resolve. The first steps were the most difficult, but her courage did not fail her and the glassblower went out into the endless night._

 

 

 

 

 

To Gardulla, they were the most expendable, as they worked outside with the mechanicals, the life support systems. Anakin helped Shmi and even could work in places where her hands were too big to fit, though she hated to make him. Those coils could be hot. He walked and talked early, and Shmi would sometimes wonder if he picked up mechanics while in her womb.

He hated sand, even as a youngster. Most children were never clean, but her Ani worked hard to keep the sand from him. It was all in vain.  

Anakin lived through three summers when they were sent to Watto to settle one of her old mistress’ bets.

Watto was not kind - no master was - but rather than living in crowded slaves quarters, they had a small flat of their own. Some nights, when neither of them were nursing electrical burns, or there was water leftover at the end of the day, she could almost pretend that their life was stable. Those nights she would go out and tell stories of the stars to her young son.  

He grew like a spinebarrel plant, maybe even flourished.

He had a knack for getting anything to work in Watto’s shop. He did chores around their flat, including sweeping sand out daily. His room was mostly filled with little odds and ends Watto sometimes let him take home at the end of the day. He had nothing to gamble with, but he followed podracing as closely as Watto and his cronies did. He even made friends.  

“Kitster said he was born free, Mom! Was I born free?” he asked once. Ani had just swept out as much sand as he could for the night, closing the door on it.  

Shmi had been startled. She knelt gently in front of her son, watching his sweet face. She shook her head.

“Were you?” His brow puckered. His chin trembled.  

Shmi took him into her arms. “No, nor I.”

“Why though?”

She could feel the hurt of it, so heavy. She had told him many times of the tracker in his body to keep him from wandering off. How they had lived at Gardulla’s - he could barely remember her but for the stink of Hutt slime. How they must now work for Watto who did not beat them for smaller infractions. She had taught him all she knew, because they both knew they might be separated one day. Bile burned in her belly and up her throat. She said nothing.

“I’m going to build a pod, I’m going to race, and I’m going to free us both with my winnings.”

It was the hope of a four year old, and she could not bear to take it away. Instead she tucked him in with the stories of the stars.

 

 

 

 

 

_The glassblower knew her craft better than most, but she did not go far into the dune sea before she was lost. The night was cloudy so she couldn’t reckon by the stars, but she kept moving through the crisp, cool air._

_In time, she came to a great shaggy bantha. Her fur was thick and black, her horns were curved and lovely. She was magnificent, and the glassblower knew she owed her respect._

_‘Greetings,’ she said, bowing low._

_‘I am dying of thirst,’ the bantha said. ‘Have you any water?’_

_The glassblower pulled out her ever-full canteen and offered it to the bantha who drank greedily, but was satisfied before the canteen was emptied._

_‘Thank you. My name is Guermessa. Tell me, what is a human doing out in the night on the dune sea?’_

_The glassblower put away her canteen and said, ‘I seek the Dragon that has been attacking the glass city. I wish to stop it from killing my friends and neighbors.’_

_‘You seek the impossible, for the Dragon you seek, Tatoo, has learned how to separate her mortality from her body and hidden her death inside of a Ronto egg. She feared death and craved power and as consequence, she cannot be slayed by a mortal such as yourself.’_

_‘Can you tell me where her death is hidden?’_

_‘I can bring you there, for you gave me water when I was thirsty. But the road is hard, and you will not thank me in the end, I think.’_

_The glassblower said, ‘Be that as it may, I did promise to try.’_

_‘Then climb up on my back,’ said Guermessa. And they set off in the direction of the hiding place of the dragon Tatoo’s death._

_In time, they came to a snarling wolf with matted gray fur. He was magnificent, and the glassblower knew she owed him respect._

_‘Greetings,’ the glassblower said from Guermessa’s back._

_‘I am wounded,’ growled the wolf. ‘Do you have any medicine?’_

_The glassblower slid off of Guermessa’s back to tend to the wound with his permission. As she sewed it up with the needle and silk thread, he said ‘Thank you. My name is Ghomrassen. Tell me, what is a human doing out in the night on the dune sea with a bantha?’_

_‘Guermessa is helping me find the dragon Tatoo’s death, for I must defeat her to save my guild.’_

_The wolf flashed a grin and growled, ‘Did Guermessa not tell you that you seek the impossible? Her death is well hidden, enchanted, and will escape should you attempt to steal it.’_

_The glassblower said, ‘Be that as it may, I did promise to try.’_

_The wolf grinned again and said, ‘You aided me, so I will come with to return my debt. But the way is treacherous, and you will not thank me in the end, I think.’_

_The glassblower climbed up on Guermessa’s back, and with Ghomrassen following behind, they set off in the direction of the hiding place of the dragon Tatoo’s death._

_In time, they came to a desert falcon. She was fierce, a large bird of prey with brown and gold plumage, the better to disguise her in the dune sea. She was magnificent, and the glassblower knew she owed her respect._

_‘Greetings,’ the glassblower said from Guermessa’s back._

_‘I am dying of hunger,’ the falcon said. ‘Have you any food?’_

_The glassblower slid off of Guermessa’s back to tend to the hunger of the bird of prey. As she feasted on her bread, she said ‘Thank you. My name is Chenini. Tell me, what is a human doing out in the night on the dune sea with a black bantha and a gray wolf?’_

_‘Guermessa is helping me find the dragon Tatoo’s death, for I must defeat her to save my guild. Ghomrassen may try and prevent it from escaping when I do.’_

_The falcon winked. ‘Did Guermessa not tell you that you seek the impossible? Did Ghomrassen tell you that the dragon Tatoo’s death is enchanted to be cunning?’_

_The glassblower said, ‘Be that as it may, I did promise to try.’_

_The falcon winked again and said, ‘You aided me, so I will come with to return my debt. But the way is trying and you will not thank me in the end, I think.’_

_The glassblower climbed up on Guermessa’s back, and with Ghomrassen following behind and Chenini on her shoulder, they set off in the direction of the hiding place of the dragon Tatoo’s death._

 

 

 

 

 

Anakin built a pod. Shmi hated it. But Watto thought it was funny, that her son was a play thing. He let her son race and her heart cracked in fear every time. She thanked the stars every time his pod broke down and he walked off the track with his head down at the mechanical failures. He endured the taunts and the teasing. Watto bet against him and won. Not many bet for him, after all he was only five or six.

Anakin would clean the filth off his face and she would force him to eat dinner and then tell him the stories in the stars so he wouldn’t feel bound to his failures.   

When he was seven, he worked extra for a broken protocol droid that Watto had deemed garbage. Shmi breathed a sigh of relief as he tinkered over it, instead of his yellow podracer.

“He’s for you, mom! He’ll speak every language ever, and he’ll learn how to cook and sweep out sand so you can rest after Watto sends us home.”

She brushed her fingers through Anakin’s silky gold hair. Her little boy looked nothing like her, he had a spirit that burned brightly. Where had he come from? she wondered. Again. The stars, maybe. Her sweet, generous boy.

“Thank you, Anakin. I’m sure if you work very hard, he’ll be a great help to me.”

He crinkled his nose. “I know you don’t want me racing.”

She laughed. “It’s true. Your newest project seems safer.”

“I haven’t forgotten my promise though. To free us with my racing winnings.”

She gave him a sad smile. “You know, you’re a smart boy. And I’m rather clever. Maybe we can think of some other way?”

“I’ve been thinking of a scanner, to find our trackers?” he said slowly.

She was taken aback. “When did you think of that?”

“A few weeks ago. If I found them, could you take them out? It might hurt, though...” he said, trailing off.

She pinched his cheek. “Let’s make the scanner, first. But keep it a secret, Ani.”

He nodded, solemn and serious. He knew about secrets.

 

 

 

 

 

_They walked for three nights that were unbroken by daylight, across the barren dune sea. The glassblower shared her water and her food. She told her new friends of her life in the city. However, she was careful not to reveal any of the secrets of glass making._

_Finally, they came to the place where Tatoo’s death was hidden._

_It was a good thing Guermessa knew the way, the glassblower would never have found this place on her own. It was a stunted, scraggly tree, like a hundred others they had passed on their journey. The glassblower slid off the great bantha’s back for the last time._

_Looking at the tree, she could see it was bent over, as if its roots were somehow corrupted. She spared a glance at Ghomrassen, who grinned his wolfish grin and said, ‘There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is why it will not stand.’_

_It was an old proverb. So the glassblower began to dig. It was only sand, which had cooled in the endless moonlight anyway. She was used to sand, the way it moved and clung and shifted. Deeper and deeper she went, until her nails finally caught on something. Hurrying, she found the edges and excavated a large glass chest. At first touch, it was cold and felt as familiar as the sand around her, she knew it was leaded glass, cloudy and heavy. Guermessa and Ghomrassen helped her pull it up, Chenini supervised from the tree, sometimes squawking instructions._

_There was something inside of the chest, the glassblower could hear it scurrying._

_She was feeling confident when she threw open the lid. In a flash, a womp rat rushed out. She was startled and jumped back, not even having any of her tools in hand._

_In another flash, Ghomrassen gave chase._

_The lost sight of him for a moment as he hunted down the womp rat, but after a moment, Ghomrassen’s jaws clamped around the womp rat._

_Instantly, a sand grouse took flight from the womp rat, spinning cartwheels in the air, but Chenini took flight after it, pursuing the grouse as well as Ghomrassen had a few seconds early. Chenini soon had the sand grouse in her talons, and giving the grouse a mighty shake, an egg flew up and out towards the glassblower._

_This time, she was ready. She managed to catch the egg gently in her hands.  It was a Ronto egg, heavy and strong._

_‘Be careful,’ advised Guermessa. ‘Tatoo’s death is inside that egg. You need not break the shell. It will not be long before she is here, she has surely felt its disturbance.’_

_‘But my debt is repaid,’ Guermessa concluded mournfully._

_‘And mine,’ said Ghomrassen._

_‘And mine,’ said Chenini._

_The glassblower bowed low to her traveling companions. ‘I cannot thank you enough for leading me to this place,’ she said. ‘Without your help, I would not have gotten so far.’_

_To the great bantha she said, ‘You have carried me so far, my friend. I thank you.’_

_To the gray wolf, she said, ‘You caught the swift womp rat, my friend. I thank you.’_

_To the fierce desert falcon, she said, ‘You captured the cunning sand grouse, my friend. I thank you.’_

_She bowed once more, and they gently brushed up against her as they took their leave._

_Tucking the egg in the pouch that was the color of darkness, the glassblower readied herself for the coming battle with the great dragon, Tatoo. Carefully, she laid out her glassblowing tools. She collected firewood from the stunted tree. She gathered her white cloak around her and, toying with the flux in her pocket, she sat down to wait for the dragon._

_To keep herself focused, she remembered the child’s words on her departure._

_Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that_  
_witches are often betrayed by their appetites;_  
_dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;_  
_hearts can be well hidden,_  
_and you betray them with your tongue._

 _Remember your name._  
_Do not lose hope – what you seek will be found._  
_Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn._  
_Trust dreams._  
_Trust your heart, and trust your story._

_She thought of all the secrets that she knew about Tatoo and her death. Of the secrets of the stars and the wilderness and the dune sea that Guermessa, Ghomrassen, and Chenini had taught her. About her own glass making. She thought of the children, and of the people in her guild, in the only home she had ever known. She thought of her promise._

_In the end, the glassblower did not have to wait very long. Like a sunrise, light and heat returned to the dune sea; the dragon was upon her._

_The glassblower stood up again, determined to save what she could._

 

 

 

 

 

Anakin raced one last podrace. She knew it was to be his last. There was something about this Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn. There was something about this handmaiden. This Gungan. They were here, and her son found them. He would help them. They would free him. And she knew, she _knew_ , that the day her son would be taken from was upon her.

It was common for slaves to have their children taken from them. She always knew he’d be taken away. She had nine years with him, that was nine years more than some.

When his freedom came, she could feel his hesitation. It was her hesitation too. He wanted to be a Jedi, and she worried then. He will serve a galaxy that turned a blind eye to his enslavement, to hers. He still wouldn’t have choices about where he went and what he did. But Shmi knew that this was what he wanted now. He idolized Master Qui-Gon. He saw stars when he looked at Padmé (and stars meant stories, she’d taught him that much). And the Gungan made him laugh. There was nothing for him here, now that he was free and his mother wasn’t.

She couldn’t deny her Anakin this one choice.

“Now, be brave, and don't look back. Don't look back.”

There were so many things she had left to teach him. So many words left to say. Shmi watched, her arms around her own torso, holding herself together. She thought of all of Anakin’s promises, to free them with the prize money from his racing or to finish the scanner, to build her a protocol droid, to help his new found friends.  

Her Anakin, all he did was help, it seemed. And she shouldn’t be sad. He was a good boy, scrappy, tough.

Determined.

He wanted to see every planet, every star. The stories she told him would come alive for him, and he would learn new stories, too. Live new adventures that she could never even imagine. She hoped he would never again visit a desert planet. She allowed herself a small smile at that.

She turned to go inside. C-3PO greeted her, a little subdued. She too was quiet as she made her dinner.

“Anakin really did a wonderful job on you, C-3PO,” she said.

“Thank you, mistress Shmi.”

“We should see about getting you casing, though.”

“Oh, that would be heavenly, mistress!”

Shmi set out her supplies, what she thought she’d need to take care of herself tomorrow night.

Watto was going to be furious.

 

 

 

 

 

_The dragon Tatoo came roaring up to the glassblower. Her scales were bright red, flashing and glaring. Tatoo was beautiful, in the way that marked her as the most dangerous being in the dune sea. She was magnificent, and the glassblower knew she owed her respect._

_‘Greetings,’ the glassblower said, bowing low and trying to protect her eyes from the light._

_The dragon growled. ‘Who has stolen my death?’_

_‘You have traveled so far. May I offer you some water to drink?’_

_‘Foolish human! Dragons do not drink!’_

_She bowed again. ‘Then perhaps I can offer you food to eat?’_

_The dragon laughed. ‘I shall eat you, little woman, and then I shall add your bones to my collection of your guild. Oh yes, I recognize you from your glass city. And when I am done with you, I shall turn to your city, and they shall feel my wrath.’_

_The glassblower bowed a third time. ‘With respect, your greatness, Dragon Tatoo, I will not allow that to happen.’_

_‘How do you plan on stopping me?’_

_The glassblower remained silent._

_‘Very well. If you tell me who has stolen my death, I shall spare your puny city.’_

_At this, the glassblower reached into her pouch that was the color of darkness and pulled out the Ronto egg._

_‘I have stolen your death, your eminence. For you have stolen lives from many that were so loved, from those that miss them.’_

_‘But not from you?’ the dragon asked._

_And though the glassblower could hear mocking in the voice, her choices were her own. Not even a great dragon could make her regret them._

_‘With your death in my pouch, I will protect those who cannot protect themselves. I shall send you back to the skies where you belong.’_

_And she bravely picked up her truest pipe._

_‘I know your secrets, Tatoo. I have taken great care in learning them. But you came to me in a rush, to regain your death and your pride. You have not taken the caution of learning my own secrets, my own reasons for doing things. You hide your death because you fear it. I possess your death, so now you fear me. And you do not know what I am afraid of.’_

_The dragon laughed. ‘Very well, you smallness. We shall duel. And at the end, with your death, I shall take back my own death. And your secrets will go with you to your grave.’_

_‘We shall see,’ said the glassblower._

_The dragon attacked, and the glassblower parried._

_Tatoo’s scales were thick and tough, her talons were sharp, and she was heavy. She had wings to suddenly pull her mass out of the way of the glassblower’s pipe. She could lift up the glassblower and drop her from increasing heights. And she could breathe fire._

_When she did so, the glass maker would smile, and Tatoo would roar. Who dared smile at her?_

_But a glassblower can withstand any heat. She drew the flames, again and again, and eventually, her little pile of sticks caught fire._

_‘Now, it is a fair fight,’ the glassblower panted._

_The dragon laughed again. ‘I who have flames in my belly am not alarmed by your little fire, tiny human.’_

_The glassblower spun her trusty pipe. ‘Your heat comes in spurts. Mine is steady. We shall see.’_

_And while Tatoo laughed again, the glassblower gathered sand, mixed it with the flux in her pocket. Not very much, for she knew what would happen must happen quickly._

 

 

 

 

 

Every day without Anakin was painful. She saw him in the sand he hated as she swept it out of her flat, in the odd sense of humor he gave C-3PO, in the components that littered the back room of Watto’s shop. He was still furious and suffering financially after the loss of the podrace Anakin had won. So it came as no surprise when she started seeing the same faces eying her up. He was planning on selling or trading her.

Shmi tried not to worry.

In the end, it turned out that it could have been worse. Much worse.

A gruff human came in one day, introduced himself as Cliegg Lars. His hands were calloused, his face was burned from wind and sun. Watto was out.

“I only know how to be blunt,” he told her. “Watto wants to sell you, and I have a little money saved, so I thought.... I swore I’d never own a being. If I buy your chit, you’ll be free, I can promise that. If you’ve nowhere else to go, I can offer you a place on my moisture farm. I can’t pay much, unless you want to be paid in water. I have no wife to keep you company, only a young son, and we do most of the hard work, but it’s always nice to have another pair of hands.”

“Your son is Owen Lars, yes?” Shmi had seen him in Watto’s shop a time or two. He was a sweet youth, not much older than Ani. Owen was always respectful to her.

“Yes, that’s my boy.” Cliegg smiled, proud. “He likes you, he heard about your… situation.” Cliegg coughed. “I can put it in writing, if you like.”

“That’s alright,” Shmi said. “I can only read the stars.”

“A storyteller, huh? Well, you’d be right welcome on those long cold nights.”  

She made her first choice.

Cliegg Lars was as good as his word. She was freed, the tracker was removed from the space behind her knee. She and C-3PO were taken out to the outskirts. Shmi had never been this far south before, and the heat was worse here. Cliegg and Owen, as they insisted on being called, gave her a room of her own, space, kindness. She repaired droids and mechanicals and life support systems. They paid her in water - which was to say, she could sell her own portion. She kept back a little water, though. Not much, just enough for a spinebarrel plant to flourish.

Cliegg and Owen had been at the race that her Ani had won, but mostly they avoided that story.  

After a few years of living with just the two men, Owen began courting a young woman, Beru Whitesun. She lived in town, her father was a famed storyteller and Beru had learned his tales word for word. She came for visits, and she and Shmi swapped stories. Beru liked the story of the Glassblower and the Dragon, but they teased each other, for she liked the story of the twin firebirds better.

“No one is trapped in that version,” Beru said once, and then blushed furiously as she remembered who she was talking to.  

Shmi tugged Beru’s braid softly, affectionately. “Maybe that’s why I like it.”

After a time, Owen asked Beru to be handfasted - they would live together for a year and a day, a trial before marriage. Sharing a glass of water was no small thing on this planet.  

Shmi smiled at the pair as they flirted and danced in their trial marriage. They were shy, but they shone for each other. It was charming.  

Cliegg was still rough around the edges, but the two storytellers in his house had softened an edge or two, like the sand in a desert wind could wear down canyon walls after enough time.

“Beru knows almost as many stories as you,” Cliegg said by way of a compliment.

“She’s a good match for your son,” Shmi said.

“She reminds me of you.”

Shmi didn’t smile at that. Perhaps Beru was a version of her that hadn’t been a slave. A younger, softer version that didn’t have to give up her son for a better life.

“What was your wife like?” Shmi changed the subject. Owen was small when she died, but he had shared his memories of her. Shmi was curious what her husband remembered.  

“She was... she was like water. She was calm and shy and could wear you down. And she disappeared like water in the sand.”  

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. The sand comes for us all.”

She shivered, though she was not cold.  

 

 

 

 

 

_The great dragon Tatoo took little interest in what the glass blower was doing. Instead, she took a great breath and breathed out her hottest flames yet. The glassblower took her great pipe and held it not in defense, as the dragon expected, but to her lips._

_The flames came to the gathered material on the edge of her pipe, and the glassblower blew into it, singing her secrets._

_The molten glass grew and grew as the glassblower sang and sang, carefully spinning to protect the integrity of the glass. It grew larger and larger and larger still, and heavy. But the glassblower was strong, steady, and true. The dragon flew up a little way, studying her opponent, trying to make out why the glass maker had stopped in the middle of the battle to practice her craft._

_The glassblower held the creation to her steady flame, blew once more, and then looked to the skies for the dragon Tatoo._

_And with a thrust, she pushed her pipe up into the skies._

_The dragon let out a deafening roar as the molten glass burned her scales. In a moment, she was falling towards the sand again. The glassmaker caught her, and spun her through the flames again, then sealed the glass ball off._

_Tatoo beat her talons against the glass, she breathed her own terrible fire, but to no avail. She was well and truly caught._

_And by a human._

_The glassblower gave her a sad smile and took out the egg._

_In a flash, she had gathered another handful of flux, added it to the sand at the end of her pipe and began work on another glass ball. Tatoo was not silent throughout, but she watched with a sick fascination as the second glass ball formed around the Ronto egg that held her death._

_The two glass orbs shone with the last light of the day._

_With one last great effort she used her pipe to return the great dragon Tatoo to the skies, followed by her terrible captive death. They caught in the orbit and lit the great dune sea again, the harsh brightness returned. The glassblower pulled her white hood against the glare._

 

 

 

 

 

If there was one thing Shmi Skywalker loved about living on a moisture farm in the middle of the desert, it was the sunsets. She settled into one of a pair of outside stools to watch. Big Tatoo and Little Tatoo made a beautiful sight as they sank into the sand. Cliegg was right about the sand taking everything. Even though she counted on the suns to rise in the morning, the nights were long.

All three moons were out tonight, Guermessa, Ghomrassen, and Chenini. Or the bantha, the wolf, the desert falcon, here to light them all through the night.  

No one is ever alone, Shmi thought. The stars began to shine, and her thoughts turned to Anakin, her bright son who no doubt was nearing manhood. He was only a few summers behind Owen. Nineteen, Shmi calculated. It had been ten years. She wondered if he had become a Jedi, or chosen a different path. Maybe he, like Owen, had found someone to love. She hoped he wasn’t alone. She still thought, or hoped, she might see him again.

Cliegg came out and settled on the stool beside her. Neither of them said anything. He didn’t ask for a story, she didn’t offer one. They just watched the stars come out one by one, listening to Owen and Beru in the galley, giggling over the washing up.  

Shmi offered a smile and said, “Seems like things are going well.”

He nodded.

The heat of the day was melting out of the sand and the coolness of the night settled into everything. Shmi let down her braid, combed her hair with her fingers, and slowly braided it again. She turned and caught Cliegg’s eye. She smiled.

He blushed in the low light and looked away.  

Shmi grew still, feeling the steady warmth of the moment. Interpreting their silences and glances and the delicate dance they had entered. There were many parallels here. And for what felt like the second time, made a choice.

She slipped from his side and into the galley. Owen and Beru were gone, no doubt for more practicing. She didn’t turn the light back on, instead, she slowly filled a glass of water and carefully brought it back out to Owen without spilling a drop. Nothing was wasted.  

“What’s this?” he asked, standing. He knew full well what a full glass of water meant when shared between two people.

She offered him a slow smile. “It’s been nearly ten years,” she said. “You say you only know how to be blunt, but I think you only know how to be silent. You are not a man of words, Cliegg. Not fancy ones. You don’t spin stories. You definitely don’t spin lies.”

He shifted his weight back and forth.

Words were not necessary here. They were equals, they worked side by side. This was a choice, and it warmed her to make it. But now it was his turn to make the choice.

She offered the glass again. This time, with a shaking hand, he drank half of it and offered it back. She drank too.  

When the water was finished, she didn’t feel trapped, bound, or really any different.

He linked an arm through hers, muttered, “Best go in, the Sand People you know.”

Side by side, they went into the house and closed the night behind them.

 

 

 

 

 

_When the work was done the glassblower took care to put out the fire; though she was tired from the fight she gathered up her tools and her secrets and turned home._


End file.
